


She loves me?

by cowherderess



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowherderess/pseuds/cowherderess
Summary: A canon divergence, in the spring of 1917 (2x02-ish timeframe) - Sybil sees that Mary's been sad, and a chance meeting with Matthew allows her to try and fix it.
Relationships: Mary Crawley/Matthew Crawley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	She loves me?

_Spring, 1917_

i.

Lavinia was visiting again. She had been staying with Cousin Isobel for the past four weeks, ever since Matthew had been posted back to England and was no longer a Channel and a world away but simply an hour’s drive.

He did make that hour’s drive as often as he could, but Sybil had noticed that he did not spend every moment with his fiancée. He seemed almost _more_ likely to seek out Mary, who was all too happy to pass the time with him.

But then, when evening came, he’d escort Lavinia in to dinner, and Sybil was the one left to notice the fading of her sister’s smile into one that was only forced. 

She had tried to ask Mary what had happened between them, but Mary wouldn’t discuss it. Of course, she knew only too well that it had been a long time since they’d really told each other _everything._ But some problems were bigger than others, and she thought her sister’s seemed quite easily resolvable.

And then one day, she had finished at the hospital and was waiting outside for Branson, when Matthew appeared beside her.

“Mother said you’d be here,” he said. “Might I ride back to the house with you?”

“Fine.”

“Are you alright?”

Now she turned to look at him, and he was looking back at her annoyingly amiably, and her temper got the better of her. “ _No,_ of course not.” 

“Yes, I heard about Lieutenant Courtenay.” His eyes shadowed. “Awful thing.”

“It was.” She took a deep breath. “But just now I was thinking of Lavinia. She’s a nice girl, but come now. You can’t possibly prefer her to Mary!”

He looked completely knocked back. “Mary?”

How could it be _such_ a surprise? “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know she still loves you. And I believe you love her too, though I must say you’re not very good at it.”

“I–” He licked his lips, as his eyes darted anxiously. “She– loves me? _Still_?”

“And you don’t even realize how lucky you are– everyone would be thrilled by your engagement!”

The motor arrived just then, its driver just visible through the window, and Sybil shuddered. She stalked off down the path.

“We’ve got company today,” she said tersely to Branson, who could only nod, as Matthew was close behind.

There was silence on the drive back, and Sybil watched Matthew. His face spoke volumes– brightening from shock to tentative hope, and dimming back again into confusion, and settling finally into preoccupation.

She thought Matthew might not notice if she went along to the garage, but better not to risk it. So she got out at the house, when he did. 

“Just talk to her, alright?”

“I... will try.” 

She nodded, and left him standing in the drive. 

ii.

He watched her go, before his feet turned him back the way they’d come, toward the cedar tree, where he could usually be assured of finding Mary at this time of day. 

And there she was, indeed, seated on their bench with a book in her hands and the golden late-afternoon sun shining down upon her. He thought she had never looked lovelier, and all of the dreams he had put away two years ago returned to him in force.

His anxious mind settled gratefully upon an appropriate conversation starter. “What are you reading?”

She looked up, and she smiled at him but it seemed, perhaps, wistful. “ _Re_ -reading, today,” she replied, holding up a blue-and-gilt volume that he recognized, for he had the very same edition of Scott’s _Waverley_.

His heart began to race, for he could imagine what had drawn her to that particular story, and if she was _re_ reading then she already knew how it ended– but how did she interpret the ending?

“That one’s a favorite of mine, as well,” he said, as steadily as he could, as he ventured to sit beside her.

“Is it?” Her voice held more seriousness than such a reply would usually merit.

“Yes, although I always thought it a shame that Flora’s devotion to her cause had to mean that she and Edward couldn’t be together.”

He heard from her a sharp intake of breath, before his eyes noticed the widening of hers.

“I should have thought Rose to be every man’s ideal.” 

Her eyes were expressive as ever, evincing that behind the coolness of her tone there lay a very great deal of emotion. It would not be the first time he knew her to have employed some wry comment to shield her feelings.

“She has much to recommend her, certainly,” he said, “–but so does Flora.”

She turned her face away, and he knew it was time to take a further step, and thanks to Sybil’s wisdom, he felt able to.

“I’m not only speaking of the book, you know.”

“Yes,” she whispered, still not looking at him; “but how am I to understand... you are engaged to your Rose Bradwardine, are you not?”

“Yes,” he had to acknowledge; “I met her when I was in such a state of drooping melancholy, and her being disposed to repay my attachment did raise me from it.”

“Well, then.”

“But Flora gave her reasons for refusing Edward. He was sad but he understood. With you, I can’t even understand.” He laid his hand over hers. “Please, Mary, make me understand.”

She breathed in deep. “I cannot claim any noble cause, as Flora did. But I had my reasons.” 

iii.

She could feel him staring at her. And she decided to tell him; she’d lived with the weight of his disdain for two years, and it hadn’t been easy– but on balance, she’d rather he had all the facts, instead of trying to rebuild their friendship now on a lie.

Facing away, fixing her gaze on the columns of the folly, she pushed away his hand and began. “Do you remember Mr. Pamuk?”

“Unfortunately, yes– but why...”

“Well, the story was given out that he died in his bed. But in fact, he died in mine. I hadn’t asked him there, but somehow he found my room, and he wouldn’t leave. And so... you can imagine what happened next. Then he died, and Mama, Anna, and I carried him back to his room.”

There was only a resounding silence.

“I always meant to tell you. But I was afraid to lose you, and I dithered... But you deserve better– a girl like Lavinia, who won’t throw herself away. I’m glad you’ve found her.”

Then she felt his hand on hers again, a tight and desperate grip. Finally she met his eyes, to find in them a horror but not, perhaps, the kind she had expected. 

“ _You_ thought you weren’t good enough for _me_? While I let everyone believe–”

“You could be forgiven for thinking me a snob,” she whispered; “I usually am.”

“But– if not for _that_ , you would’ve accepted me?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You do love me?”

Her heart beat wildly; his was not the demeanor of a man about to run away from her in disgust. “I do, but–”

“But what?” His eyes suddenly blazed into life, what had been so conspicuously absent from them since she’d seen him again. “This changes everything, doesn’t it!”

“Does it?”

“We hadn’t announced the engagement yet, and even if I had–! I’ll end it, straightaway. She’s young, she’ll be alright.”

She dearly wished to follow him into enthusiasm, but first, she had to make sure. “And you still want to marry me?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

“Even though–”

“The Turk? It doesn’t matter. Perhaps it would have once, but I would have been wrong. After what I’ve seen– what I’ve _done_ , over there–” He broke off, closing up just a little, like he had the previous autumn. Someday, they would talk about it.

But for now, she let herself laugh, in relief and happiness, and she let him pull her up from the bench and sweep her into an embrace. 

iv.

Lavinia was not at dinner.

Neither were Matthew and Cousin Isobel, because– Papa had said– the three of them needed time before Matthew returned to his posting the next morning. Sybil could tell that he didn’t know the truth of it, yet.

But _she_ knew. She was expert at reading people, especially her big sister, and although Mary chatted and smiled politely as she had at every family dinner, there was a new, certain glow about her.

Afterward, she caught her in the corridor outside their rooms, and asked eagerly, “So? Did he speak to you?”

“Who?” Mary raised her eyebrows. “Matthew? I’ll admit I did wonder what had changed.”

“So he did!”

“Yes.” Mary smiled a real, shining smile. “We’re to be engaged. He’s going to tell Papa everything tomorrow.”

“Oh, Mary!” Sybil threw her arms around her sister, the sort of enthusiastic hug she had been known for as a child.

Mary received the hug for a moment, before drawing back. “Dare I ask what you said to him?”

“Only that while Lavinia is a very nice girl, I didn’t see how she could _possibly_ compare to my sister.” Mary blushed a little, and Sybil chuckled. “And I meant it, too.”

“Perhaps I ought to be angry with you for meddling,” Mary said, but fondly. “But it turned out alright, so you’re forgiven. If ever you need _my_ intercession, you’ve only to ask.”

It was said lightly, and Sybil wondered if it could possibly ever extend to the intercession she thought she would probably, someday, need. But she wasn’t ready yet, and so she simply kissed her sister’s cheek, and smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite things about Mary is her tendency to identify with tragic literary heroines like Andromeda and Tess Durbeyfield. She can be so dramatic and I love her for it. (Imagine what she'd be like on tumblr!) I thought Flora Mac-Ivor might fit the bill; if you haven't read _Waverley_ , do! 19th-century prose is not usually my favorite but I found this one so worth it.


End file.
